Here and There
by Javanyet
Summary: In a world full of girls who'd give anything to move in with Mike Nesmith, the only one with an invitation has been dragging her feet. That is until Mike's creative persuasion, and the insight of friends new and old, wake her up to what "home" really means.
1. Closer to maybe

After the final Fairy Tale script read-through, Mike was waiting for Bonnie to get her work in order before he drove them back to his place. Still "his place", not "their place", though occasionally everyone generically referred to it as "home" when referring to Bonnie. Everyone except her, of course. She still kept the apartment she'd gotten when she first arrived in L.A. nearly three years before. For a little over a year she'd been spending most of her nights and days at Mike's place. She was 'here', he often pointed out, in body only. 'There' in her apartment was the rest of her in the form of the books and "beads and spangles" and everything else about her that made it _her _place, not just _a_ place. He'd promised her that she could do the same thing in the house on the hillside, make it her place as well as his, and theirs. He knew she believed him, he knew she wanted it because she told him she did. But she also told him "I need more time." He wasn't a fool; he knew she'd settled her doubts about him, and them, by the time they'd returned from visiting her friends in New York. It was something else, but he was damned if he knew what. So, it seemed, was she.

Unfortunately, this most private of struggles was known by everyone who knew him, even if they didn't know him well. Most were wise enough not to comment, even in jest. Others learned fast.

Micky had learned the hard way… his wiseass remark, "got the roommate situation down yet?" had very nearly earned him a punch in the mouth a few days before. Mike could have any chick he wanted with a wink or a nod, and there was a time that he had, every chance he'd gotten. But now that "having" had a little deeper meaning, and "chicks" had been replaced by a woman with a name, it was proving a lot harder to accomplish. Everyone on the set and in the studio knew about it, and even if they knew it wasn't all about his legendary ego, the irony was pretty grating. The people who _did _know him well 'got it', even Micky. Genie, too, had tried her best in a subtle way to encourage Bonnie in the direction of giving up her tiny flat to move into the place where she spent ninety-nine percent of her off time already. It wasn't logical, Genie advised, to spend money on rent when it was really just storage.

"It's not about logic," Bonnie had told her. "It's about… I don't know. I just can't, not yet."

And so it went. Mike had promised patience, but frustration was wearing it thin.

* * *

Peter hung back after the others left. "So, how's the relocation plot coming?" He wasn't overly concerned about triggering a dark response, because he knew that Mike had never shut him down with the same "fuck off, prying-ass who asked you?" that others would earn. Mike _would_ sometimes tell him, "Leave it, man," but never "who asked you?" This time there was no "Leave it, man."

"Same as usual." Mike jammed his script in the back pocket of his jeans as they walked toward Bonnie's office. "I dunno Pete, every time I bring it up it just goes nowhere. She makes excuses, I get pissed off, and it starts racing toward ugly. I keep asking her why, and she keeps saying she doesn't know."

"You don't think she's just jiving you?"

"Nah, I can read her clear through. There's nuthin' behind that deer-in-the-headlights look but a deer in the headlights. What's gettin' to me isn't the _what_, it's the not knowing _why_. I mean she's not getting any closer to 'why' than she ever was. Crazy, right? All the 'why' in me that'd keep any sensible girl away, she got past all of it. Hell, she lives with me already, she just won't admit it. When it comes to us being together, I'm in the place most girls _wait_ for a guy to get to, and _she's_ the one who can't catch up. It's getting to feel like some sort of cosmic payback, y'know?"

Peter pulled Mike to a stop a short distance from Bonnie's office. "Well maybe it doesn't matter all that much, ever think of that? She's there with you, isn't she? You know she's in for sure. She's just no good at faking it off the clock, remember? If it looks and feels sure, then why not just accept it and let her get to where you are in her own time?" The way Mike shook his head, and the look in his eyes when he pulled off his shades, told Peter this was getting to his friend in ways he hadn't considered.

"I'm telling you Pete, every time Bonnie and me go around over this and get nowhere, 'sure' sounds closer to 'maybe'."

They stood there for a minute, both thinking hard, wanting to come up with _something_ before Mike picked up Bonnie. Peter's sudden smile took Mike by surprise.

"Michael, my man, we are looking in the wrong place for answers. What we need, what _Bonnie _needs, is some outside-inside perspective."

First replying with a blank stare, Mike finally found his voice. "You've been smoking too much of that Mexican. Or not enough." When Peter grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back up the hallway and into an unused office Mike was too bewildered to resist.

Peter closed the door behind him and leaned against it, prepared for Mike not to take him seriously. "Look," Peter explained, "Bonnie spends all her time with you, or at work. Oh sometimes she goes out for a beer with Genie, but even then some of us usually catch up to them and it's all of us out together."

"What's wrong with that? We have a groovy time, right?"

"Right. _We_ have a groovy time. And what do we talk about? Music, the show, all sorts of other stuff, but never what's inside."

"It's partying, not meditation. Now let's go, we gotta pick up some stuff at Bonnie's on the way back to my place." He stopped himself cold. "Well, _shit_. Okay, Pete, what's your outtasight plan to clean up this mess?"

"I think if Bonnie spent some time hanging out with friends who _didn't_ have 'Raybert Productions' stamped on their foreheads she might be able to loosen up enough to talk to _them_ about 'why'. Get it?"

"Hm. Not bad, but we both know she's not knee-deep in outside friends. Who is there she could hang out with, besides _us_?"

"Pam Saunders is coming back to do a bit on the Fairy Tale shoot for Sixteen. Bob wanted some PR before it aired and didn't want some fan-mag cutie spilling too much in advance, so Bob and Bonnie told Ann Moses it was Pam or nobody. Man, you _know_ how tight she and Genie and Bonnie got in Paris, it was like alchemy. Transforming three very cool ladies into a Mighty Force, way more than the sum of their parts. Think about what they could do on their own, away from work?"

Now Mike stood up straighter from the desk where he'd been leaning. "And Lulu."

"Who?"

"_Lulu_, man, I told you about her! That little pixie lookin' girl who's like Bugs Bunny on speed and backed me up on banjo and Dobro at the New York gig. Goddamn good, too. Her and Bonnie go way back, and I'm telling you when you put 'em together they'd scare even _Bob_ out of his mind. And she'd be great for session work. So…"

"How about you fly her out here? Get all the girls together, and get us an audition for some fresh session talent all at once?" Then Peter's smile turned down a little. "_How _good on banjo? Good enough for me to be watching out?"

Mike laughed, "Man if she is, don't _bother_ watching out. You'll never see her comin'." He stopped laughing. "Hold on a minute, I get the 'outside' perspective, but what's the 'inside'?"

"_Women,_ man, they speak the same language. They can get inside each other's heads without even trying."

"Oh, right, groovy. There's places in Bonnie's head I couldn't get to without a pick-axe."

Peter's face screwed up in a horrified frown.

"Sorry, got carried away there. I'll give it a shot, Pete," Mike promised as they parted company at Bonnie's office door. "Nuthin' to lose, anyway. I'll just try to work it into the usual nowhere-getting conversation _before_ it gets to the yelling stage."

It didn't _quite_ work out that way.


	2. Close enough for now

"Look babe, I know that _you_ know we've got something groovy going. You said you needed more time, but I'm starting to wonder time for what? Time to see if I'm gonna turn back into an asshole? Time to talk yourself outta wanting to be with me? I love you, I know you know that too, and you say you love me, and I believe it. But I'm beginning to wonder if you're in it for real. I mean, how can you want to be here almost all the time, but still want to keep everything else that's part of you in another place? I don't know if I _deserve_ an answer, but I can't help needing to hear one. So I've been thinking…"

His train of thought was interrupted when Bonnie cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing a little.

"What's that for?" Mike asked, distracted from his plan.

"I'm listening for the oboes."

"Listening for the _what?_"

"You know, the oboes in the sound track. When it gets all serious, and you or the guys deliver one of those heartfelt non-zany meaningful speeches, the oboes come up. Then the acoustic guitar for the fade out."

Mike sat back and shook his head in disbelief. "Morris, you can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that? You think this is some kind of joke?"

"I'm sorry," she reached out as he got up so suddenly the glider swayed almost hard enough to pitch her onto the deck. "You need to lighten up, Nes, we are not hanging by a thread because of this."

"_Sez you!"_ His shout echoed down the canyon before he turned back to her. "It's all groovy now, I'm all acting like a human being, we're all patched up because I came clean about Phyllis and everything else, so _you_ say it's all outtasight. You stay here, you _live_ here, but that last piece of you that you brought when you moved from New York, _that_ lives somewhere else and won't even come to visit. But oh no, we're not hangin' by a thread because it's working fine for you. Well guess again, sweetheart. How long you think I'm gonna hang by _anything_ wondering when you'll decide we're worth you packing some goddamn boxes and bringin' it all here for good?" For the moment, Peter's clever suggestion was blown right out of his head.

_Oh, God_, Bonnie thought. She knew this was coming again, she knew and had just put it out of her mind since last time. Like Mike had done with Phyllis's phone calls, and with just as much success. He was right, of course… everything about her life was here in this glass-faced cliff house with him. Everything except that other world in her tiny apartment, the one she scarcely visited anymore except to swap clothes and books and things. How could she have thought he wouldn't figure it out? The last piece of who she was when she came to L.A., it wasn't even who she was anymore, not really. It was small and insulated and shut away, just as she'd been and planned to be… just the opposite of who she was now. So why did it scare her so much to close it down? Not knowing why got to her as much as it did him, but for some reason she could only dance around it, so whenever they came up the questions always turned into an argument.

"Why are you _yelling_ at me?" She wasn't afraid of him, but the anger in his voice hurt like a smack in the face and she shrank under the force of it.

He leaned over her, not caring. "Well since you won't listen to reason, I figured maybe _LOUD_ might work!" He wanted to be as hard on her as her indecision was on him, but this time she seemed to wilt instead of fighting back, so he lost his nerve. He crouched in front of her. "Look, I'm runnin' out of ideas here. I know you like it here, I know you wanna be with me. I've been through a million changes since we met, good ones, and you didn't _make_ 'em happen, they happened all on their own, like they were waiting for the right time. So what's the problem?" _Wait for it… here it comes…_

"I don't know." She sighed. "You got it all right, about that last piece of me. And I do love being here, and I don't want to be anywhere else, and when I'm there I _miss_ you. But I don't know why. It's really more in my head than anywhere else."

He smirked at that. "Your head doesn't cost you three-fifty a month and all the gas I can burn between here and there." He shook his head and stood up. "I give up, Morris, I just give up. I thought I knew what you needed, but… man." He turned away and went back in the house.

Bonnie jumped up and followed him. "I need _you_, okay?"

He pointed to the array of her duffle bags tucked against the wall. Her stuff, her bags. They never saw the inside of his closets or bureau drawers. "As much as you need those?"

"You want me to go home?" she asked in a small voice. After all, she kept throwing his invitations back in his face.

When he looked at her again she was standing by her duffle bags wearing a guilty expression. He shook his head and went to her, draping his arms around her neck.

"No, I don't want you go home," he told her as he bent to kiss her cheek. "I want you to _be_ home." When she pressed her face into his chest it was his turn to sigh.

"Mamadillo…" he breathed into her hair. "You learned to unroll in your sleep, but when you're awake…" He tapped lightly on her back. "The armor's still on a hair-trigger."

He was exasperated to the edge of madness. He _knew_ she wanted in. She was here all the time, and when she was at her (other) place sometimes to work, or when he was busy late at the studio or with the guys and she was too tired to wait for him and took a taxi to her place, she still ended up calling him. _Come get me. I miss you. _ For years he'd called the shots with women, chicks when he wanted them, rid of 'em when he was through with them. Hell, since he got famous they _all_ wanted in, and now this one "didn't know". How messed-up-stupid was that? They wanted you when you didn't want them, and when you did… it's "I don't know." How the _hell _did their brains work? Then it came back to him, what Peter had suggested. He cursed himself for letting his temper get the best of him again; it had almost derailed the best idea he'd heard in a long time. Not just for him, but for Bonnie too.

"Hey Morris, babe…" He held her closer, rubbed her back, and bent to kiss her ear. "I think I know what you need."

She smiled against his shoulder. These "heavy talks" made her a little edgy. She was always glad when they burnt themselves out, which typically was signaled by Nesmith's shift from argument to affection.

"Mmm, yeah, what's that?" She stretched up to rub her cheek against his. He'd had to shave that sweet beard to go back into production, but she wasn't all that disappointed. His skin against hers felt just fine.

"Chick time."

Bonnie jerked her head back. "_What_ time?"

"Chick time!" This time it was Mike who had to follow as Bonnie walked away, finally grabbing her around the waist to hold her still.

"Listen, will you? You said this is more in your head than anywhere else, you said you don't know why you can't just kick that little place of yours and move in here. Well maybe you need to shake it down with your fellow chicks. I mean, where do you spend most of your time? With me, with the other guys, with Bob, and Chip. With _dudes_. And no matter how well we know you there are places in a chick's head where only another chick can speak the language, you get it?"

She leaned back a little against him, considering this. "Yeah, I guess even when I'm with Genie, it's all about the work. And we've been meaning to get together with Pam."

So what Nesmith was suggesting now sounded great, some time together before the work started. Some chick time.

"Right!" Mike told her, and gave her a hard hug before letting her go. "You three were a serious force in Paris. And Genie and Pam, well they were hell bent to turn us into romantic fools."

Bonnie smiled, remembering. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Almost." He pointed at the duffle bags, and her smile faded. "Hey, you want me to lie? C'mon, let's call it a draw for tonight. _Again._" He reached out and pulled her up the stairs with him. "You are one contrary wench, Morris, but looks like I got used to you, and who else would have me?"

"You mean there's somebody left who _hasn't_ had you?" Bonnie snickered, and raced to the bedroom.

"You can thank 'em later," he called out, and caught up with her by the bed. "Every one of 'em... because you need to know," he whispered against her neck as he pulled off the last of her clothes and she expertly worked his belt buckle loose, "first-class lovin' is an _acquired_ skill."

* * *

"I don't like arguing about this like we do," Bonnie confessed. She was draped atop Mike where they lay in bed, naked and sweaty and blissed-out breathless.

"Me neither," he sighed (which was all the breath he could manage after the way she'd worked him over) and then goosed her with cocoa-butter-smoothed fingertips. "But you are one hot mama when you're feeling guilty… argue all you want as long as you keep makin' it up to me…"

For a few minutes they were quiet. Bonnie occupied herself with a favorite amusement: smoothing down Nesmith's bangs, and watching them spring back again into that amazing wave. He just lay there with his eyes closed, smiling dreamily.

After a while she rose up to lean over him. "Y'know, home is just a word, I mean, it's wherever you feel it," she told him in a soft "trust me" voice. "Really Nes, what does it matter where my stuff is? _You_ feel like home to me, what else is there?"

His dreamy smile morphed into a knowing grin and one eye cracked open, its brow sliding up. "Nice try, slick, but I'm hip to you. When you're up against the wall and all else fails you whip out the philosophy. What, nuthin' to say to that?"

"'night, Nesmith." Short, flat, and busted.

He laughed and kissed her head as it dropped onto his shoulder. "'night, Morris."

* * *

Some time later Mike shifted to his side and tangled the fingers of one hand in Bonnie's hair.

"Mamadillo, laugh if you wanna but I'm kinda old fashioned some ways," he murmured. "Home is where you hang your hat… and I'd be real happy if you hung it here. That's all."

She didn't reply, but wound closer around him.

"Close enough for now," he sighed. Once again, he dreamed about less space and fuller closets and one upstairs room full of nothing but all things Morris. It was a strange new dream to him, and it wouldn't let him go.


	3. Welcome to the Monkee House

When the LAX security man appeared at the end of the jetway Lulu was less than willing to go with him, and more than suspicious.

"Are you Lulu Levine?" he asked.

"Who wants to know?"

"If you're Lulu Levine, please come with me, miss."

"Whaddaya mean 'come with me, miss'? Who the hell are you? My friend is picking me up, but first I gotta get my luggage." She shifted her Dobro case to her other hand and made ready to run.

"Your luggage has already been taken care of. Here, I was told to give you this."

He handed her a business card with "Raybert Productions" emblazoned across the top in bold black letters. Just beneath was the red, guitar-shaped "Monkees" logo. And beneath that, "Bonnie Morris, Associate Producer" and the office number Lulu recognized. There was a little black arrow pointing to the edge of the card, so she turned it over.

_Just shut up and go with the man, okay?_ was written in Bonnie's familiar sharp-edged script.

Lulu shrugged, and gestured with her instrument case. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? Lead on."

The security man led her through an unmarked door and down a corridor that emptied into a cavernous hangar, though it appeared to be too small to hold a whole plane. There were luggage tractors and forklifts everywhere, and beyond a stack of wooden crates marked "Fragile" stood a sweet-faced hippie type with a smooth mop of blond hair, holding a sign that read "Lulu Levine Your Ride is Here." A teenybopper she wasn't, but you had to be blind or over sixty not to recognize a Monkee.

Breaking out in an ear-to-ear grin Peter strode up and shook her hand . "Hey, nice to meetcha. I'm Peter."

"I know." What else was there to say? Feeling stupid, she added, "I'm Lulu."

"I know. Here, let me take that. The rest of your stuff is in the van." She didn't let go of the Dobro case at first. "Uh, relax, I'm gonna give it back, I promise."

"Sorry, force of habit." She handed over the case and followed Peter out the hangar door to where a nondescript VW bus was parked.

"Bonnie's tied up at the studio… costume stuff for the other guys, it's a little more complicated than she expected."

Peter held the door open and Lulu climbed in the passenger seat.

"She didn't tell me anything at all about it, actually…" she confessed, "what's any more complicated than what you guys always wear?"

Peter tapped his nose and leaned forward to whisper, "Top secret," then laughed. "No kidding… Bob and the writers came up with this crazy idea and it's really turning out to be a blast. But we're all sworn to secrecy."

"Or else what? They can't fire you, you're making them too much filthy lucre!"

Peter's eyes widened. "Or else Bonnie'll _kill_ us."

Lulu nodded gravely. "Say no more, friend, I can dig that." Then they both laughed as he drove around the back of the terminal to an employee exit.

"I appreciate the ride, Peter, but what's with the secret agent stuff?" Lulu wanted to know. It was then she saw the medium-sized gathering of girls on the other side of the chain link fence, their screams coming in weird harmony. "Never mind, I'm hip. How the the hell did they know you were coming out _here_?"

"Anyone who works here who needed five bucks fast, that's how. Looks like a tame scene, the news must've only gotten out." He rolled down the window and waved to the guy on the gate. "It's cool, Fred, thanks man."

There were only a couple of dozen girls but they managed to raise a racket banging on the back of the van as Peter peeled out of the gate. They ran screaming after for a few dozen yards, finally giving up the chase. Lulu, who was kneeling backward in the seat watching them, pivoted and sat with a thud. "Shee-it."

"Welcome to L.A.," Peter announced. "The only thing crazier than the traffic is the fans."

* * *

Bonnie's voice could be heard sailing out into the hallway even before the wardrobe department door was opened.

"Listen up!" she was hollering. "For the last time I am telling you _NO TITS! _ Two words, one syllable each! Can you _DIG_ it?"

Peter and Lulu entered on a scene right out of Lewis Carroll.

Micky was modeling a checked dress and white pinafore for one of the wardrobe girls, who was checking the hem. Over the pinafore he was putting on an enormous bra stuffed with cotton batting. A short distance away, Davy stood on a low stool while Genie put finishing touches on the waistband of his dirndl skirt, into which was tucked a white peasant blouse.

"Why not, then?" Davy complained, "Me legs are _dreadful, _and a lad's gotta have _something_ going for him!" Suddenly he jumped and exclaimed, "Ow! Bloody hell, Genie, your pincushion's on the _table_, not under my arm!"

Genie didn't respond. When she was at work, she paid attention to nothing but her hands and the fabric between them.

"Well I don't get it, either," Mike griped. "We're supposed to be playing chicks, and nobody's trying all that hard to make it look real." He sat in the corner on a stool as the hairdresser worked on the long blonde wig he was wearing, styling it so it showed _just enough_ of his legendary sideburns while giving a firm enough base for the cone shaped princess hat balanced on top. Later the wig would be fastened to the finished hat draped with chiffon and sequins, but at present it was the muslin-covered prototype. Unlike the other two guys, from the neck down Mike's attire was a Triumph t-shirt, blue jeans, and boots, making the visual contrast was even more jarring than the dresses worn by Davy and Micky.

Bonnie was pacing furiously between the impatient men, waving a dog-eared spiral notebook.

"Oh good God someone please _shoot _me!" Still pacing she continued, "For the thousandth time, you're not playing chicks, you're playing GUYS _dressed_ as chicks! If it looks _real_, you just look like ugly chicks! So _no tits_!"

Micky snickered as the wardrobe assistant carefully helped him out of the one-piece dress and pinafore. "She's just afraid they'll be bigger than hers." Distracted by escaping from his costume, he failed to notice that Bonnie was right behind him.

"Back at ya, Dolenz," she snapped, slapping him neatly on the back of the head.

"Yeah, well Milton Berle had tits," he grumbled, rubbing his head.

"When NBC offers _you_ a thirty-year contract, _then_ you can have tits. Not a minute sooner."

Suddenly the guys all turned toward Pam Saunders, sitting safely out of the action with tape recorder by her side. She was shaking with laughter.

"_Off the record!"_ they shouted as one.

Not batting an eye, Peter led his disoriented guest into the room.

"So, Lulu," he said brightly and waved a hand to indicate the mayhem, "this is what I was telling you about."

"Why bother to swear you to secrecy," she muttered, "who the hell would _believe_ this?" She pulled Bonnie's business card from her pocket and waved it in the air. "Jesus _Christ_, Siobhan, you sure this shouldn't say 'Ringmaster'?"

The chaos stopped as if by magic. "_LUULUUU!" _ Bonnie shrieked and spun around, throwing her notebook in the air (narrowly missing Davy, who ducked just in time).

They danced a mad jig of reunion until they ran out of breath. "Okay, guys, this is Lulu."

"No kiddin'," Micky deadpanned as he pulled his Indian print shirt over his head. "How ya doin'. Like snake pits? You're gonna _love _it here."

"That's Micky. I really don't beat on him all the time," Bonnie promised.

He patted her shoulder as he walked by. "Only on days with a Y in them. Nice to meet you Lulu, Mike's told us you're a real badass on any kind of strings. We're lookin' forward to some jam time in the studio. Catch ya later, I think we're going out somewhere where there's tequila. Bring your spare liver." He waved over his shoulder as he left.

"David," Davy introduced himself, back to charming normal. "Welcome to our little magic shop. It's not much but we like to call it… Bedlam." He looked Lulu up and down for a moment. "And might I add what a pleasure it is to meet a girl who is shorter than me."

"Don't let the smile and the costume fool you, Lu," Bonnie cracked, "he's more wolf than Riding Hood."

Freed of his wig and cone-hat, Mike loped over and picked Lulu up off her feet exactly as he'd done when saying goodbye in New York a few weeks earlier. "Hey Pixie From Hell, what's happenin'."

"Hey Rock Star," she greeted in return, and drew back one dangling foot. "Put me down _now_, because I'm just in the right place to make you a soprano."

"Yes, Ma'am." He set her on her feet and went to gather his stuff as Genie and Pam approached, both beaming smiles of welcome.

"Genie Adams, I'm so glad to meet you. This is Pam Saunders…" before she could continue Lulu interrupted.

"You wrote that article about Paris. Good stuff, so much better than the usual fan-fawning crap."

Bonnie stood back in exaggerated astonishment. "Why Lulu Levine, I never suspected you were into the fan mags!"

"Hey, how _else_ was I supposed to keep track of what you were up to?" Lulu protested.

"Trust me, the juiciest stuff is off the record," Pam assured her. "But now you can see it first hand for yourself."

"And then we'll have to kill you," Mike intoned as he headed for the door, shades in place and buckskin jacket on. "Hope you like Mexican," he told Lulu, "we're goin' to an outtasight little place for dinner tonight."

"Works for me," she told all of them.

"Great. Later, Morris." He leaned down to give her a kiss, then told the others, "Later, ladies. Try not to scare Bob too much if you run into him. On second thought... scare the _crap_ out of him." He winked and left with Peter.

"Wow. And I thought the Village was a trip!" Lulu declared. The other three women laughed, already comfortable in her company. "Okay, then, Siobhan, I could use a shower and a beer. Why don't you take me home?"

"Oh dear me," Genie sighed and eyed Bonnie, not without sympathy. "This is where it gets a bit muddled…"


	4. Chick time

Genie dropped off Lulu and Bonnie at the North Hollywood apartment.

"Right, I'll call later when the boys get back to me about tonight," Genie told them. "Pam's going to be staying with me."

"But what about my stuff?" Lulu asked. "I think it's still in that van."

"We'll sort it out, " Genie promised, and roared away. What she didn't say was that Lulu's stuff would be delivered to Mike's, where the library would serve as a guest room. Bonnie had briefly filled in Lulu regarding her dual living arrangements but little had been said after Lulu observed, "But it sounds like you don't _live_ at your place, why do you keep it?"

* * *

"Jeez, could you have found a place with _more_ floors?" Lulu huffed as they climbed upstairs.

"Two floors, Lu, you want a Sherpa to carry you?"

"Honey, in the big city of New York there's this thing called an elevator. I thought the news might have reached the big city of L.A.," she gasped in reply. But when her friend unlocked her door and they stepped inside, Lulu was struck speechless for a moment.

"I'd give you the grand tour, but all you gotta do is stand in the middle of the room and rotate," Bonnie cracked, then noticed Lulu was standing still as stone inside the door, her eyes wide. "What?"

"It's the Village place." Lulu walked slowly around the room, looking at the decorations and artwork, the books and furniture. She pointed to the low stool, the one that Mike had dubbed a "tuffet" the first time he'd seen the apartment. "You even kept this. You _hated_ this! You said it was useless and just took up space!"

Bonnie was suddenly on edge. "What are you talking about?"

Lulu had gone into the bedroom, and bounced right out again as if launched from a slingshot. "Oh my God. Siobhan, what is going _on_ here?" She looked genuinely aghast. "You said you're not ready to give up your own place and move in with Mike, but you don't know _why_?" Suddenly she shook her head and gave a dark laugh. "Well of course nobody here would have a clue, would they?"

"A clue about _what_?"

"Are you _high_? Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Lulu realized if Bonnie asked her "What?" she couldn't answer for her response, so she headed it off with, "Siobhan, my dear old friend, look around! This isn't just your place, it's yours _and_ Benny's!" She waved a hand around the room. "Everything, every book and bead and candlestick and statue, all pretty much where they were in the Village! You even kept the stuff you said you couldn't stand," she emphasized, pointing to the "tuffet".

"What, I was supposed to throw it all away? It's not like I had much money left after I got this place, and then I was so busy…" She was surprised to see Lulu was near tears, and didn't move away when her friend came to her and took her by the shoulders.

"And now, over two years later, not enough money or time to replace those brick-and-lumber bookshelves he made?" She shook Bonnie, then hugged her, then shook her again. Then she stood still and dropped her hands to hold Bonnie's as she scolded gently, "Bullshit, baby doll. Bull. Shit. Ten bucks says they don't know when your birthday is, either."

Her response was a childish-sounding, "They do too."

"But you always have 'stuff to do', so no party, no night out, no nothing. Don't bother to lie, I know I'm right."

Now Bonnie pulled away and stormed to the other side of the room before protesting, "Well what do you expect? I figured being evasive was better than being rude."

"It also avoided questions you'd rather not have thought about," her friend told her as she dropped casually into the overstuffed armchair that Benny and Bonnie had bought at a street sale on their birthday(s) the year before he died. "So you sat here, in this chair, and you cried. Or not. Whatever it was, you kept it here, so nobody could see, and you never ran the risk of anyone wanting to help you deal, or worse, _succeed_ at it." She paused for a minute and when Bonnie didn't respond she added, "I know it's only half a birthday since Benny died, I know that. I don't think _anybody_ knows that better than me, but Siobhan it's _not_ half a funeral! Friend of mine, it is not helping you to keep on keeping on this way, a separate apartment and secret birthdays. And it's getting in the way of the things you want, isn't it? That Mike Nesmith, man, I get the feeling no matter how much it pisses him off he'd sit in the dark forever waiting for you to change your existentially burnt-out light bulb, but why make him do that? You're not happy living in the dark, either."

Bonnie fought a wave of shame. Lulu was right; there was no way her old friend wouldn't have seen right away why she was hanging onto this place. Was that why she'd brought her here first, and not to Nesmith's? To hear the truth out loud from someone who wouldn't tap dance around it? Well, she'd _claimed_ to want to get a grip on this "where do I live thing," hadn't she, at least she'd told Nesmith that more than once. She sat on the huge tasseled and mirrored pillow next to the chair where Lulu sat, the pillow she'd bought when she and Benny first got the two-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village.

Bonnie looked up at Lulu, who was wearing a look of painful understanding. "Remember what I told you about that night in Chicago, when Nesmith came to my room after the gig? I said I told him about Benny, but I didn't really. I told him Benny was a friend of mine, not who he really was. It wasn't until he came back, you know, with the tape, that I finally told him the truth."

Lulu slid down to join Bonnie on the pillow, not saying anything, just listening.

"I mean, it wasn't like if I didn't say it, it wouldn't be real, not like that. More like, it was private, still between Benny and me. Like this place, it's really not a shrine, like you hear about, full of pictures and worship of someone who's not coming back." She looked Lulu hard in the eye. "It's like, he's _here_, okay not really here, not like a presence or anything crazy, but I can _feel_ him when I'm here."

"Like when you listen to that tape at Mike's late at night."

"Yeah, like that."

Lulu leaned against Bonnie and reached an arm around her. "So if you can feel him _there_ when you listen to him, how would that change if you packed all this up and admit that the home you you really want, where you _belong_, is right where you woke up this morning?"

"You're saying I should let it go, huh? Move on, go with the flow into the future?" Bonnie wasn't at all sure she could do something that felt so _final_.

"Nope, I'm saying you can bring it with you. All of this, whatever you want that keeps Benny in your life. He _should _be in your life, but all you gotta do is bring it with you wherever you go. It's not going to break some kind of magic spell to pack and unpack it and arrange it differently. And we both know he wouldn't mind sharing. He won't even mind if you pass that stupid tuffet on to some other deserving soul."

Bonnie was crying now, so Lulu hung on tighter.

"How can I tell him all this?" Bonnie asked through her tears, "How can I explain this to any of them so it makes sense, without sounding _crazy?_" She was surprised when Lulu shook her hard and laughed, brightly this time.

"I've only just met your other friends, and I gotta say, with this crew crazy looks like a plus." Bonnie was looking at her ruefully, but Lulu refused to indulge her. "Siobhan, you know what I mean. From what I've heard you all came here as some kind of refugees from _something_, and now you're a committed circle of weirdos. What could be cooler than that?"

"Anyone who wasn't at least a little crazy wouldn't last a week with us," Bonnie admitted. "Kirshner was a straight-arrow stiff, and he went down in _flames._"

Lulu was relieved to see Bonnie smile, even a little. "I gotta tell you something," she revealed, "when you and Mike were in New York, I took him to 'meet' Benny, you know, to visit the grave. I thought it was important. I didn't think you'd mind."

"It _was_ important but I didn't have the guts," Bonnie confessed. "How did he do?"

The answer was a firm nod. "He did fine. Siobhan, I am your oldest friend and I love you more than anybody else does, except maybe that tall Texas rock star. And I am telling you right-on, you can't give up what you _have_ because of something you _lost_… that's the rules."

"Okay, I'm sold. But what 'rules'?"

Lulu bounced to her feet. "_Karma_ rules, foolish woman!" She reached down and pulled Bonnie to her feet. "And you can dig it as well as I do…"

"You _don't_ fuck with Karma!" they announced in unison.

* * *

When the phone rang, Lulu was closer to it than Bonnie. "Lulu Levine answering for Associate Producer Siobhan – oops I mean _Bonnie_ – Morris. Oh hey, Genie. You wanna talk to Sio-Bon-whoever? When? Okay, sounds great. We'll be ready. " She hung up and informed Bonnie, "Genie said she just heard from Peter. She and Pam are coming to get us in half an hour, we're gonna meet Peter and Mike and your two Nancy-boy friends at some place called La Cantina."

"Lulu, they're _not_, it's just for the show!" Bonnie protested before she caught on to the joke.

"Baby doll, you have gotten _way_ too serious lately! We gotta change that. Now which way to the shower?"

Bonnie led her into the bedroom and pointed at the red door. "Yonder. But I thought all your stuff was in the van?"

Lulu hefted her huge purse and pulled out a scarlet blouse and black stretch pants. "Always carry a plan B. See you in a few."

Bonnie laughed out loud and went to search in her closet for something to wear. It was like night and day… she suddenly felt more sure of everything, and of her own mind, than she'd felt since before she came to L.A.

* * *

Peter returned from the pay phone to join Davy, Micky, and Mike at the bar. La Cantina was a little hole-in-the-wall place that sold genuine Mexican food cooked and served by genuine Mexicans. Even the menu was in Spanish. Limited space notwithstanding, the proprietor reserved a table for eight in the rear room that was usually reserved for parties and late-night illicit card games.

Seeing Mike was scowling into his glass, Peter asked, "What's with him?"

"Oh, he's convinced that this whole 'chick time' idea is gonna backfire," Davy told him dismissively. "You know how he is, Little Mary Midnight and all that."

"Well c'mon guys, who can predict what chicks will advise each other?" Micky volunteered. "I mean, you think they're all gonna get together and Bonnie will get her head clear, but maybe they'll tell her to run like hell instead of giving it all up to move in with the Groupie King."

Mike lifted his head to snarl a reply, but Davy beat him to it. "Shut up, mate, you're not funny. And you're not helping."

Peter sat next to Davy. "He's right. Look let's just have a mellow night, okay? Bonnie's friend Lulu seems real nice." He was trying to change the subject. Fat chance.

"Yeah, she's real nice," Mike muttered, "She also knows Morris longer and better than any of us. Just the kind of friend who'd tell her to think twice, or something like it. I'm beginnin' to think this was a real bad idea, guys. Pete you were right, I shoulda just left things as they were and let it all come in its own time."

"Well it's too late now," mused Micky, regretting it immediately. "Don't listen to me, man. What do I know about women? Just take it as it comes, maybe it'll be cool."

Mike nodded tersely and shot a look at Peter. "Yeah, gettin' closer to maybe every minute." With a jerk of his head he dropped his shades over his eyes and asked, "You guys want anything?"

They all shook their heads negative, indicating their not yet empty glasses. Mike's was the only exception. He beckoned the bartender.

"_Doble tequila para mi, por favor_." When the full glass replaced the empty one, he raised it to his friends in a sardonic toast. "Here's to maybe."

He sucked the lemon wedge, licked the salt off his hand, and tossed the drink back in one gulp.

* * *

**_Doble tequila para mi, por favor _: Double tequila for me. (Though I think you probably knew that already!)**


	5. 1 tequila, 2 tequila, 3 tequila, floor

As she got dressed to go out Bonnie was feeling as if in just the past forty-five minutes a huge weight had been lifted off of her that she had been carrying for years. Oh, she knew there was no magic involved. She just needed someone to kick her hard enough for her to drop it, and Lulu was just the one who could do it. Everyone else had tried logic, and reason, and friendship, and Nesmith had tried all of that with a fat side order of ranting frustration. They all were "kicking" her in their individual ways, mostly nicely, but Lulu knew just the right spot to aim for and didn't care any more about "nice" than Nesmith cared about not yelling. Deep inside Bonnie had known all along what she wanted, and was kicking _herself_ for not being able to just get on with it without all the drama. She loved Nesmith, yelling and artiste-ego and sordid past and all, and loved being with him in that glass house of his. She loved sitting in the glider with him while he was working out music charts, or while she was filling up one of her production notebooks with ideas, or just when the two of them suddenly found themselves with nothing to pay attention to but each other. Even when they were at opposite ends of the house doing their thing-of-the-moment, it was different than being alone. Being alone wasn't something that had bothered Bonnie much… until she'd discovered the alternative. She didn't even care anymore what Bob would say about mixing business and personal stuff, or that the press would have a galloping field day freak-out about the Mercurial Monkee and the Production Executive.

She finished weaving the string of crystal beads into her braided hair. Beads and spangles it would be, tonight, her emerald green silk blouse embroidered and set with mirrors, and the black Indian cotton slacks that Lulu had brought her from New York. She topped it off with silver rings and beaded bracelets. Pleased with the result, she fingered the Lone Star ring on her right hand.

"You want beads and spangles in the house, you're gonna get a sample tonight," she announced. Just then Lulu bounded into the room, looking simply hip as always with (apparently) zero effort.

"So, are you all set?" she asked Bonnie.

"In every possible way," Bonnie replied and seized her friend in a spontaneous hug. "Thanks, Lu. It's not that Nesmith doesn't tell me what I _need_ to hear instead of what I want to, but for some reason I _listen_ to you. I guess he was right about chick time after all."

"Only part way," Lulu disagreed, "you needed _Lulu Levine_ time."

When Genie and Pam arrived, Bonnie and Lulu maneuvered into the back seat of Genie's psychedelically flowered VW bug.

"Jesus, Genie, when you gonna get a grown up car?" Bonnie griped.

"When you get _any_ car, darling," Genie shot back. "So there's another good reason to move in with Tall Boy… he has a veritable car park full of transportation."

"As if he'd let me drive any of em," Bonnie observed. "Oh, and about that, the moving in stuff. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna pack it up, shut it down, and movie it to the house on the hill." She stopped to nudge Lulu a little roughly. "_All_ of it. Bob, press, and fans be damned."

Pam, who had been turned around to face the pair in the back seat, pivoted forward and flopped down with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Thank God for that!" she exclaimed. "After the work it took in Paris just to get you to break down and act like you were in love, I had no ideas left!" She turned around again to look at Bonnie and Lulu. "I mean Genie told me all about what was going on, and it was just so _weird_, you were living there but not _living_ there, you were never at your apartment but you wouldn't _move_… seriously, what kind of thing is that?"

"Weird, you got it right the first time," Lulu quipped. "But from now on Siobhan is gonna devote all of her weird to that freaked-out TV show. Now _that_ is weird."

"Weird pays the bills," Genie reminded her.

"Damn, wish I could get in on that gig. Back in the Village there's enough weird to make me a millionaire."

"Yeah, well careful what you wish for," Bonnie warned. "I talked you up to Chip and Nesmith told the guys about how you play. You might just be getting in on session work, and more weird than you ever wanted. It'll give the fan mags a whole new mystery to obsess over… 'who is that dark haired pixie recording with TV's hottest group?'"

"Don't call me that," Lulu grumbled.

Suddenly Pam was rummaging in her oversized purse. "Hey that reminds me… I was hoping I wouldn't need it and am glad I didn't, but I brought this for ammunition just in case." She reached back to hand Bonnie a page torn out of a fan magazine. "It's from Flip," she explained, and turned her nose up as if she'd said a dirty word.

On the page pulled from the "Who's Happening Where" gossip and candid photo section was a nice, clear picture of her and Nesmith at Strings Attached on the night of his solo gig, laid out on a ringside table swallowing each other's tongues.

"Holy crap. When did this come out?" They'd been back for almost a month, so it couldn't have been shot by a pro.

"Two days ago. But my point was going to be, and still _is,_ that these two people belong living under the same roof," Pam declared.

"Those two people belonged in a _private room_," Lulu added as she peered at the image. She looked at Bonnie, eyebrows raised. "How did I miss _that_?"

"Uh, I dunno, I guess you went backstage, I don't remember exactly," Bonnie muttered more than a little sheepishly as Pam and Lulu stared at her. "Hey, he _ambushed_ me, okay?"

Genie flashed a grin in the rearview mirror. "He always has, hasn't he?"

* * *

At La Cantina, Mike was into his third tequila as Peter, Davy, and Micky tried to make him listen to reason instead of Jose Cuervo.

"Look, man," Peter was saying as he waved the bartender away, "if you want her with you so bad, why be so stoned you can't talk to her when she gets here?"

"Yeah, _that'll_ be a real turn-on," Micky added. "What makes you think she's gonna have some big announcement here and now, anyway? In front of all of us, your band mates and costars and buddies, who would sell our _souls_ to see _something_ that can kill the permanent black cloud you wear like that stupid wool hat? The pressure would _kill_ her. So just let it go until there's a reason not to, okay? I mean, you want her, you _got _her, right? It's no easy thing to pack up everything you brought with you from another life and move it somewhere else, especially with the killer schedule we have. Maybe she's just _too busy_ and is putting it off, too much to deal with now, you know?"

"That's just it," Mike said, dialing down the grouch factor. "She's got one foot in that other life, and one foot in this one." He looked along the bar at the others. "If you were me, wouldn't _you_ wanna know why she can't drag that other foot in the door?"

"Yeah, mate, maybe I would," Davy replied quietly. Then he pointed to the three empty glasses in front of Mike. "And if I _were_ you, I'd be on the floor by now. Micky's right, give it a rest. It's Lulu's first night in L.A. and after what she saw this afternoon, it might be a good idea to try to salvage what's left of a first impression, right?"

"Okay," Mike muttered. "Yer right, don't wanna scare her off before Chip hears her."

"Yeah fellas, well _I _wanna scare her off, if she's as good on a banjo as Mike said," Peter offered, clearly joking. "So drink up, Mike, the gig you save may be my own."

The door to the cantina swung open, and Genie, Pam, Lulu and Bonnie entered.

Micky snapped to attention. "Well _hello_ ladies! We've been waiting to meet some of our fellow wage slaves, but you will do _just fine_."

"Comedians, you're all comedians," observed Lulu drily. "We gotta get you into the Hungry I."

Micky put on his Crooked Agent persona. "Well c'mon with me, little lady, and we can talk contract." She laughed and took his arm as they went into the back dining room. Pam, Davy, and Peter followed, but Genie hung back for a minute when she saw Bonnie gesture to Mike that he should wait.

"Coming along?" Genie asked. as casually as she could manage.

"In a minute, I gotta talk to Nesmith first."

"Right, in a minute then." And she joined the others, leaving Mike and Bonnie alone at the bar.

"I don't like the sound of this," Mike said to nobody in particular. He was just drunk enough to slur his words a bit, but had stopped drinking before he could reach the stage where every word is painfully and precisely spoken, and fools nobody. He sat back on the barstool with a thump. "Man I knew this wouldn't be a good idea. Go ahead, shoot." He could see she was confused. "Well, come on, Morris, lay it on me. Tell me how everything we got isn't enough, and how your friends figured out I'm the worst mistake you ever almost made. Second thought," he stood and glared at her, "you don't hafta tell me anything. You been straddled between lives all this time without even losin' balance, tells me all I need to know. If you wanted in, _all the way_ in, on what we have here'n'now, ya wouldn'ta kept one foot nailed to there'n'then. Well must be _somebody_ somewhere who c'n take up where ya left off, shame to have all this groovy change in me go to waste." He shook off her restraining hand and stomped unsteadily out the door. The few other patrons in the restaurant who had been distracted by the display went back to their meals and drinks. The Monkees didn't get too much attention from the locals in that part of town.

"I'm sorry," Bonnie apologized to the bartender, and went after Nesmith. He wasn't hard to find, hanging on one-handed to a streetlight a couple of yards from the cantina door. He was leaning over the curb as if he was about to puke, but Bonnie could hear him breathing hard, that sound he made when his emotions were on edge and he was trying to focus his thoughts. And yeah, he was bombed, she could tell that much the minute she saw him. She'd seen him in every dark and light mood he had, affectionate and happy, raging and bummed out, hard-core logical and immune to talking sense. But she'd never seen him like this, drunk and expecting nothing good from her before she even said anything.

She got near enough that she could speak quietly. "Tequila, huh? And here I thought you were a beer and fine-wine kinda guy." She reached out a tentative hand to touch his back, but he pulled away as he straightened up. "Nesmith… _Michael_. Since when is talking a bad thing? Hell, it's how we started, remember?"

"Might as well be how we end, right?"

She couldn't understand why he sounded so bitter. "What are you _talking_ about?" Then a strange voice came from behind her.

"Hey, you're that Monkee guy, right? Man you've had a few. Hey lady, you okay? Is he bothering you?"

_Shit, a random observant citizen, just what we need, _she thought.

"I'm fine, just keep moving, thanks," she told him, not turning around, but he recognized her anyway. _Goddamn photo calls and press releases._

"Hey, you're that lady, what's-her-name, works for the head honcho on that Monkees show." The guy turned his attention to Mike again. "Not such a big shot now, are ya? Dead drunk just like any working class bum."

"Get lost," Mike growled past Bonnie at the guy. It came out "Geyalost" as Jose Cuervo worked his magic by combining slurred speech with an amplified drawl.

"Can't talk any better than you sing," the guy sneered. "C'mon, honey, I'll show you how a regular guy treats a lady." He made the mistake of trying to take Bonnie's arm. She wheeled and hit him with a two handed shove that took him by surprise, knocking him on his ass.

"He said _get_ _lost_!" she yelled in his face, a little surprised herself to see him hit the ground.

"Daym, better get lost, man," Mike drawled. "Lady means business."

The man got to his feet sputtering with rage, brushing dirt and cigarette butts off of his suit.

"You people are _crazy!_" he shouted. "My kids'll _never _watch that show again!"

As the guy took off Mike snorted, "Hah, yer kids're probly out getting' high, fuckface." He looked at Bonnie and let out a hoot.

"Hoo-_wee_, you sure are a badass when you get rollin', always liked that about you." His silly smile faded. "Gonna miss that."

"_Why_ for Christ's sake, where am I _going_?" Bonnie felt like she was on a sound-stage without a script. It was obvious to her that Nesmith had some bizarre scenario in mind, and she had no idea where it came from. But wait… _it came from galloping paranoia about 'chick time'. _That, and a gutful of tequila. What was it about guys, they thought women were in league against them or something? And they thought that pickling their brains would make it all _clearer_?

"Wherever you all decided." Mike jerked his head toward the cantina door. He sat down on the curb, boots in the gutter. "'Chick time'… dumbest ass idea I ever had." The adrenalin rush of the last few minutes was burning off the most extreme part of the buzz, leaving him less wasted but still a little sloppy. When Bonnie leaned on his shoulder as she sat next to him, he didn't pull away. Not even when she reached up to bury her fingers in his hair. _I love when she does that._

"You got it all backward, Nes. Yeah I got decided, for sure, and Lulu helped me. I decided it's time to un-nail that other foot you mentioned, and get all the way in. Seriously, you thought that they'd talk me into walking away?" She shook her head, and his. "You ain't just drunk, cowboy, you're _dumb_."

"Ain't no fuckin' cowboy," he muttered to his boots, then raised his head. "You mean it? You in?"

"All the way, soon as I can get it together." She saw his expression tighten. "Put that face away. I only lie for money now."

His mouth twitched into a smirk as he snickered, "Well you lie _down_ for free, Mamadillo."

She stood and hauled him to his feet. "Yeah, well about that, Pam has this picture with her…" She loved the way he dropped his arm around her as they went back in the cantina. She _always_ loved the way that felt. Of course this time he was leaning a little more heavily than usual. "Tell ya later."

"So you didn't tell me, what decided you?" he asked as they walked inside.

"Tell ya that later too, after you sober up, it's a little complicated. Hey guys!" she called out as she and Nesmith took their seats at the round wooden table.

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Micky piped up, "Mike found himself a caretaker."

"I can take care of _you_, Mick," she warned.

He leaned back with a smile. "Not from _there_ you can't!"

Bonnie raised an eyebrow and looked at Genie, who was sitting next to Micky.

_Smack! _Genie's hand did the deed.

Peter was impressed. "Whoa, man, remote control!"

The waiter came in to take their orders.

"Hey Mike, I'll stand you a drink. Tequila, isn't it?" Davy offered, a gleam in his eye.

"Screw you, wise ass. Make mine water."

"So, now you've got your home lives sorted out," Genie declared, "we need to schedule the move in between the Fairy Tale tapings."

"Talk about a fairy tale," Micky laughed, "the princess is moving in with the Texas horny-toad!" He ducked just in time. "Jeez, a guy can't make a joke anymore!"

Bonnie smiled as Mike squeezed her knee under the table. _I've pulled the nail out of that foot, now it's all over but the walking._

"Well he promised me my own turret, how could I say no?"

"Frequently." That was from Mike. He followed up by leaning close to Bonnie's ear. "Trust me, you're gonna love it."

"Last time I heard _that_ I wound up with a twenty dollar crew cut," Lulu recalled.

"Now you all just keep your peace and mind your manners," Mike chided, having regained a steadier tongue. "I suggest the ladies help Morris pack it all up and then take off for the weekend and do whatever it is ladies do to entertain themselves, hatching conspiracies and such, while we the _men_," (as if on cue, Davy, Peter, and Micky grunted as one and pounded their chests) "will take care of the heavy liftin'."

"But how will you know where I _want_ stuff?" Bonnie protested, not much liking the idea of relinquishing _all_ control of the merging of her past and present.

"Now don't you worry your pretty li'l head about that, darlin'," Mike told her sweetly and - to everyone's horror - patted her on the head. "We'll take care of everything."

"Call the cops, there's gonna be murder," Micky rumbled as Bonnie's eyes narrowed and she pulled Mike face-to-face by his collar.

_"_Take it back Nesmith or I will punch you right off that chair."

"She _is_ a brute, but I must confess she has kinda grown on me," he told his companions as Bonnie glared at him. _"And_ because she just knocked some guy on his ass outside, I will take it back." The glare receded.

Lulu looked at Bonnie, then at Mike, then at everyone else she'd fallen in with. "Man, this is gonna be one _freaky_ week."

Nobody disagreed.


	6. Midnight confessions

"Got everything you need, Lu?"

Lulu looked around the library that was converted to a guest room. Soon to be converted again to something very much like the soul of Bonnie, if the Rock Star was a man of his word.

"Yeah, this is perfect. A big fat sofa, fancy schmancy linen sheets, enough pillows to outfit a Turkish whorehouse, and look at all the _books_. What's not to like?"

"Okay, okay," Bonnie laughed. "Look I'm sorry about all the drama tonight, it's kinda been a long strange trip here."

Lulu hugged her friend. "No kiddin'... no _problem_. Hey, I don't know if I should tell you this, like more complications we don't need, but while we were waiting for you and Mike, your friend Peter asked me out." (Peter had driven them back to Mike's in his own car, promising to return next day with Micky to bring back Mike's Pontiac, the newest addition to his automotive collection.)

"Damn, he's taking lessons from David! Working fast, zoom!"

Lulu shrugged a little sheepishly. "Yeah, well he seems okay. Kinda, well kinda _normal_, for a super-famous type. And I think he wants to check out my banjo chops…"

"Hah, I _know_ he does. But really, you should go. Pete's one of the sweetest souls I've met out here. He's got this kind of matter-of-fact connection to the truth, I mean it wouldn't occur to him _not _to tell it like it is. I'm telling ya Lu, we would not be standing here tonight if it wasn't for him. He saved Nesmith and me from ourselves more than once. And smart? He's into philosophy, literature, and he can play anything with strings. You guys would have a blast."

Lulu considered this as she arranged the bedding on the "big fat sofa".

"Okay, if you put it that way… and I guess you'd know, if anyone would. That he's not one of those low life groupie junkies, grabbing every ass he can find because he's A Monkee, capital letters. What, why you laughing?"

"C'mon, Lulu, you're a grownup. All the guys have had more than their share of road bunnies. But low life? In the real world, lemme tell you a secret only Pete, Nesmith, and me know. That first time when Nesmith went to New York, and met Ari and got the tape and everything, well back here in L.A. I was kind of well…"

"Wallowing in it?" Lulu deadpanned. "Up to your neck in 'poor me' and 'fuck him'? Yeah I can imagine it."

Caught out, Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, thanks for setting the scene, _friend_. So long story short, I got bombed, Peter drove me home, and me being crazy drunk and him being sweet and foxy looking, I kind of put a make on him. Okay, way more than kind of. And he turned me down. Way MORE than turned me down, he lectured me and put me to bed… alone. _That's_ what we're talking about."

Lulu's eyes bugged out. "You telling me he's _queer?_"

"_No!_" Remembering the late hour and that Nesmith was flat on his face two doors down the hall, Bonnie throttled back to a whisper. "I _mean_ he's a good guy. He's not gonna jump you."

Lulu did a pirouette and skipped to the door to open it for Bonnie. "Well not without _warning_ I hope!"

"Oh you are _so_ bad!"

"And you love me _so_ much."

"Yeah, I do," Bonnie admitted freely. "But don't get perky too early tomorrow, if you know what's good for you." She knew too well that Lulu was an _unholy_ early riser. "There's everything you need in the kitchen, but keep it quiet until a decent hour. The rule is if you can't find it we don't have it, and if we don't have it, you don't need it." Suddenly Lulu was beaming, lit up like a Christmas tree. "_What_?"

"You said 'we' like it was just the way it is. And it is."

"Thanks for that. Don't fall off the deck tomorrow," she warned Lulu, "nobody will hear you scream." Before she could leave Lulu pulled her back.

"No promises. Here, gimme a smooch, baby doll." She kissed Bonnie loudly on the cheek. "Treasure it. The next one you get is gonna smell like tequila."

"Hell, I hope not. I _hate_ tequila. Night Lu."

* * *

The bedside light was still on when she got to the bedroom. Nesmith was sprawled face down still wearing his jeans and shirt, head turned to the side halfway off the pillow. He'd only managed to pull the covers down partway before giving up and just crashing on top. She tripped over one boot near the door; the other was at the foot of the bed. Belt flung over the armchair, wallet and keys on the floor nearby. She stood there by the bed, looking at him as she sometimes did when she caught him early in the morning or when he was snoozing on the deck or on the sofa in the music room, passed out in the middle of something that had been burning up all of his energy moments before. Right now, he took her breath away. He did that a lot, sure, but some times more than others. Right now the smooth swoop of his hair seemed to match the sweep of his dark lashes. His face looked so smooth, sweet and calm, as if everything that ever darkened it had slipped away. She only took a minute to change, dumping her clothes in a colorful puddle on the floor and grabbing in the drawer for one of his Triumph t-shirts to slip over her head. Then she went back to kneel on the carpet, her face level with his. He didn't look drunk or burnt out, he looked, well, _beautiful_. She leaned closer and smoothed back the "swoop" with two light fingers.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to make it this hard."

His eyelids didn't even flutter, but that gorgeous mouth moved a little. "Me neither. Guess we'll never be the easy type, will we." He rolled onto his back, his unbuttoned shirt falling away to his sides, and reached out his hands to Bonnie's face, knowing she'd come to him the same way she did, waking or asleep, whenever he touched her. She climbed up and leaned over him, bending to string some kisses from his chest to his neck. When she sat up again she was surprised to feel her eyes fill up.

"I don't care, if you don't," she told him, "I know what I want, I just don't always take the short way around to get it." She paused to trace her fingers along his sideburns, down his chin, and beneath his lower lip. He dipped his chin and caught her fingers in a kiss.

"Gotcha." He smiled that melting smile and touched the corner of her eye with a long, gentle finger. "Aw, don't cry, c'mon, we're gonna be fine. Now gimme some sugar to seal the deal… don't worry, I brushed my teeth twice." He pulled her mouth to his and reached his other arm around her to bring her down against him. After a couple of warm minutes she pulled away a little and began working her way down his neck, and his chest, trailing kisses back down from where she'd just come. She heard him sigh, but his hands in her hair were holding her still now, not coaxing her further.

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but not now babe, I just don't have it in me." He felt her smile against his skin. She dropped a quick kiss on his belly button and sat up next to him.

"Shouldn't'a had that last tequila. I always thought David's persuasive charm only worked on the _girls_."

"Ha, ha. Please just help me get m'clothes off, and roll me into bed. I promise I'll be sparkier tomorrow."

"Tomorrow you'll be a goddamn grouchy son of a bitch, and you know it." Bonnie pulled off his jeans and shirt and managed to pry the covers out from under him and pull them up again. "So I'll wait a while for 'sparkier' if it's all the same to you." He rolled on his face again with a groan of agreement. She smiled as she slipped under the covers to lie close against him, her arms wrapped around the slim body and her face resting against the side of his neck. "Go to sleep, Nesmith, Mamadillo's gonna stay right here, soon to be joined by enough beads and spangles to trip you right out."

"Mmm, sure do love m' Mamadillo, y'don't scare me a bit..." His murmur faded out on the last syllable.

* * *

The stars hadn't yet grown pale over the canyon when Mike went looking for Bonnie, and found her on the deck just outside the bedroom. She was sitting in the huge cushioned Mission chair, wrapped in his old blue bathrobe, the one that he used to wear on the set between costume changes. The one that he'd been wearing when a random fan mag was on the set, and the picture had shown up in so many places he couldn't stand to wear it anymore, so he'd shoved it in the back of the closet. Now he made sure he stayed in the dressing room between takes, wearing one of the silk kimono robes that Bonnie had bought for him. She did know how much he liked soft things against his skin…

"Hey there, room for one more?" She jumped a little, though he was speaking quietly. "Scrooch over there." She did, and he slid in behind her and pulled her sideways into his lap. "What's happening, huh?" His head was pounding in the runup to a respectable hangover, but he knew something had to be going on for her to be sitting out here in the dark. He pinched her lightly through the robe. "Why you wearin' this old thing?"

"It smells like you."

"Silly me, I thought _I_ smelled like me."

"Not like this..." She pressed the sleeve to her face and breathed deeply. "Ivory soap, you don't smell like that all the time anymore. You can afford the fancy man stuff, it's great but I miss this sometimes."

"So you got up in the middle of the night to smell me before I got rich and famous?"

"_No_, Nes." Bonnie shrugged. "It's nothing. Stupid, really, just a dream. I don't know where it came from, honest." She tried to keep from shaking a little, but she couldn't. She also couldn't keep him from turning her face toward his.

"Then why're you crying all alone out here? Why didn't you just wake me up and let me make it go away?" Mike was used to Bonnie's occasional bad dreams, usually about stuff like running away from dragons and things like that, when she was afraid of losing control of the work and wouldn't admit to anyone she was overwhelmed. Those night mini-terrors were easily dispelled with some silly talk and a few kisses. He could tell this was different; she looked righteously haunted. When she didn't answer him right away he pulled her head to his shoulder and hugged her closer. "Fine. We can sit here until the sun comes up and turns me into a goddamn grouchy son of a bitch." She started crying for real, then.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, trying to regain control, "I didn't wanna wake you up because it's just a stupid dream, but I can't seem to shake it. Have you ever had that, a dream that you _knew_ was just a dream but when you woke up the _feeling_ just held on?"

He smiled and kissed her hair. "Yeah, sometimes I dream about smacking Bob and I wake up still wanting it." This time "silly" didn't seem to help so he asked, "So why don't you _tell_ me what's holding on? Besides me, I mean."

When she spoke, it all came out in a rush. "It was some gig, some stadium gig, and I got there late and security wouldn't let me in, I kept saying 'but I _work_ with them, I'm _supposed _to be here' and nobody would listen, so I sneaked in a side door and there were all these corridors and I kept asking 'where's the guys, I need to find them, I'm supposed to be there when they go on,' something like that, but nobody would tell me, so I went up and down the corridors and I heard David's voice laughing, so I went in the door where it was coming from. David and Micky and Peter and Chip and some other people I don't know were there, and girls, lots of them, and I looked around and said 'where's Mike?' – I called you that, I don't know why – and nobody said anything, so I kept asking, and they shrugged and went back to talking, and so I asked again 'where's _Mike_ I need to see him!' and David pointed to another room, and I saw you walking in there with this blonde girl, and I ran after you. When I caught up she was gone, and there was just you, but when you looked at me you were just _blank_, like you look at the press or the fans when you've had enough of them, and I asked you 'Mike it's me, why won't you look at me' and you did look at me, but cold as ice, and walked away again. I followed you, and I was _begging_, 'please, talk to me, please _look _ at me' but you didn't even turn around, and then you were gone but I didn't see you really leave, I was back in the dressing room and I asked where you went and somebody said 'beats me' and I just was there asking where you were, over and over, until suddenly the room was empty and I was all alone, yelling for you to come back, but _nobody_ came back." When she stopped, she was out of breath. She sat up a little and added, "And really, I _know_ it's not real it probably came from that drunk-ass stuff you said tonight when you thought I was gonna leave you, and it just twisted around and came back as this dream... but the way it _felt_, I was so desperate but you looked at me so cold, and empty and I felt like I, like everything I ever wanted was _gone_ and I'd never get you back…" She buried her head in Nesmith's shoulder and sobbed, "It was just a stupid dream but I can still _feel_ it, I can't make it go away."

_Damn. _"Okay, Morris, it's okay, that'd freak me out too, other way around. It doesn't have to make sense, c'mon now darlin', just try to relax a little." Then he stopped talking and just let her cry it out, whatever part of the dream that had chased her from the dark inside her sleep to the dark outside on the deck. After a little while she quieted down, and even seemed a little embarrassed.

"Sorry I'm such a freak show." _But it's okay, it really is okay with him. __Siempre... I really believe it now._ Maybe this dream was the last of her doubts not giving up without a fight.

Mike gave her a kiss and a squeeze. "I had my turn earlier, remember? You okay now? Wanna come back to bed?" She nodded and let him pick her up in his arms and carry her back into the bedroom. When he'd tucked her in and gave her another kiss she told him, "I really don't think I could've told anybody else that… it's just too stupid. But you, I knew you wouldn't mind."

"Once I chased you down and made you tell me, you mean." He laughed quietly and smoothed her hair along the pillow. "Warm up my side for me, okay, and I'll be right back. I gotta find me some aspirin or I'm gonna wish I was dead in a few hours."

On the way to the bathroom, he met Lulu on her way back to her library/bedroom.

"S'everything okay?" When Mike looked surprised she explained, "Window's open, I heard Bonnie crying."

Mike didn't have to ask how much else she'd heard, and he knew she'd take it to her grave. "Bad dream. She gets 'em sometimes, nothing serious."

Lulu nodded and told him, "I'm glad she came here. To L.A., to your freaky show… and to _here_." She tapped the center of his chest. "She needs somebody to help her with the scary dreams. And everything else. I've decided you're probably up to it. And I know she's definitely up to it. For you, I mean. By the way, Rock Star, I never said any of that," she finished coolly, and went back to her room.

"Never heard it," Mike whispered after her, and went back to the bedroom. Bonnie was sound asleep, sprawled over his side of the bed, warming it up just like he asked. "Glad you came too, Morris. In a few days you're gonna see how much."

He climbed into bed and nudged her just a little, and she rolled into his arms without waking. _  
_


	7. Monkee hands make light work

"Time to get up, baby. C'mon if I can stand up after last night you can do even better. Hah, missed me." After easily dodging her half-hearted swipe, Mike could hear Bonnie's voice, faintly, from under the covers.

"Dontwanna."

"Suit yourself. You're givin' me no choice but to call in the secret weapon."

No response except a very faint "pfffllllt".

Whereupon Mike walked away from the bed, opened the bedroom door, and disappeared into the hall to direct, "Hit it, Lulu."

_"Baanzaiiii!"_

Bonnie peeked out of her burrow just in time to see Lulu sailing toward the bed in midair, and managed to roll to the side the second before impact. A muffled condemnation came from inside the cocoon of bedding.

"I hate you both. Really."

"C'mon, Genie's waiting for me downstairs, and Pam's waiting for _you_. Rise and whine." Lulu sat on top of Bonnie's buried form and bounced up and down a couple of times. "You don't _really_ wanna be outdone by the most hungover Texan in the Western Hemisphere, do ya?" She yanked the covers out of a tightly clenched fist. "Well _do_ ya?"

When she heard Mike laughing as he walked downstairs Lulu leaned down right into Bonnie's face. "Look, I know this is the hard part."

At that, Bonnie poked her head out and looked up, eyes wide. "It is. I knew you'd understand."

Lulu nodded and continued smoothly, "And remember, I'm helpin' Genie pack up your stuff so you don't have to wallow and bawl over every dust bunny."

The covers flipped up over Bonnie's face again. "Thanks a bunch." Lulu was unmoved, and yanked the covers away.

"Look, just go hang out with Pam. We're all gonna meet up in Malibu, one of Pam's writer buddies is lending us her place on the beach. We're gonna lie around and drink champagne and I'm gonna get to know your crazy friends and then you're coming _home_ as in where you've always known it was. But first you gotta get up and get _going_. It won't hurt much, honest."

Finally Bonnie sat up and stared into Lulu's eyes. "Promise?" She had actually been relieved that Lulu and Genie were taking the packing in hand. Genie had enough respect for her past to handle it gently, and Lulu had enough intimate knowledge of her not to get too bogged down in excess reverence. For her own part, Bonnie knew it would have been too much for her all at once. Not for the first time she was warmed by the knowledge of how well her friends and life were coming together, past and present.

Still sitting on Bonnie's lap, Lulu nodded, serious now. "Yeah, baby doll, I promise. Rock Star promised too. When we come back on Sunday you are gonna wonder why you held out so long. We may not all look back and laugh, but you're gonna be glad you did it."

"Fine," Bonnie sighed and jumped out of bed, casually dumping Lulu on the floor. "And while you're packing, and Nesmith is organizing and the guys are doing whatever it is they're gonna do…" She paused to grab some clothes out of a duffel that had, miracle of miracles, made it all the way into the bedroom last night. After she got dressed and was ready to go, she caught Lulu staring expectantly at her.

"What?"

"Yeah, what? 'While we're packing' and blah blah blah… _what?_" Lulu demanded.

"While all that's happening I can figure out how to calm down Bob. He's still convinced I'm gonna give up all reason and logic and start backing Nesmith against him in every artistic battle. And he's always warning me against 'fan backlash'."

"Seriously? You said he was letting you use the company vans to move." Lulu was puzzled. "Anyway, I always figured the more 'taken' one of these guys was, the more the fans grooved on the fantasy of stealing them away, writing their 'someday' plans in their little diaries and sending all those hot fan letters."

"Uh-uh," Bonnie corrected as they headed downstairs toward the smell of coffee and the unfamiliar (in this house) sound of overlapping laughter and conversation. "He's telling me they'll get all psycho on _me_, for moving in on their fave pinup-future-dream-husband. Or keeping them from another after-gig lay that they're expecting because he told them 'see ya next time'. Or whatever."

They arrived in the downstairs to be greeted by Monkees, Genie, and Pam. Bonnie gestured at the guys, slouched variously around the living room. Genie and Pam were at the dining room table, organizing packing lists.

"_This_ is the moving crew?" Bonnie moaned. "I'm doomed."

"Well thank _you_ very much, and adios," Micky huffed, dislodging himself from the sofa and marching to the door. "I know when I'm not wanted."

Mike followed and seized him by the collar. "Nice try, man. Genie and Lulu are gonna _pack _and we are gonna _carry_."

"But I'm used to running in circles to badly recorded sound tracks," Micky whined, "this is, _this _is…" he flung back his head and covered his eyes with the back of his hand, gasping, "Manual labor!"

Pam finished off her coffee and called out, "Don't forget, Monkee hands make light work." Everyone groaned.

"Easy for you to say, you're not doin' the work," Davy faux-grumbled. To be honest, they all were relieved to speed an end to the mind-bending drama of Mike and Bonnie's living arrangements.

"_Au contraire_," Mike corrected. "_Pam's_ got the hardest job of all… keeping Morris occupied and out of our hair."

"Well I just want to make sure it all gets here in one piece!" Bonnie protested.

"Yes, dear," Mike drawled. Everybody cracked up as he added, "Might as well start practicin' now 'long as she's gonna have _both_ feet in the door."

"_What!"_ Bonnie shrieked, but Mike just stuck a mug of coffee in her hand, turned her around, and hustled her toward the door, where Pam already was standing. He put on his fussy-character voice.

"Now-you-just-run-along and have a nice time, and don't you come back until Sunday or I'll lock you in the garage. Shoo-shoo-shoo!"

Bonnie was so stunned she actually shuffled out the door, still clutching her coffee mug. As the door swung shut, Mike doubled over in gasping hysterics.

"Man, you are taking your life in your hands with that shit," Lulu warned, but the others just laughed louder.

"If she hasn't killed him yet, he's good for a while," Davy advised. "Now who's gonna drive and who's gonna bollocks up the directions?" he asked, and they all trooped out to the two Raybert production vans and headed to North Hollywood.

On the way to Bonnie's about-to-be-former pad, Genie asked Davy as he drove, "It's not going to take more than a day to get all of this moved, why the extra two days?"

Davy tipped a sly wink. "That's on the Q.T., luv. You'll know when she does."

Genie considered the possibilities. "Better than what Pam and I pulled off in Paris?"

He gave up only a shrug and the subtlest of smiles, and drove on.


	8. Synthesis and the art of interior design

"Bloody hell," Davy gasped and fell dramatically to the floor next to the box of books he'd just dropped after his tenth trip up the stairs.

Peter stepped over him and reminded casually, "Well you _knew_ she's into books."

Davy groaned and rolled onto his back. "Well I also thought she'd maybe heard of a _library card_."

Micky rose from his crouch near the built-in bookshelves in the corner, and immediately reached for the cramp in his lower back. "Gotta point there, Dave." He backed into the middle of the room and looked in despair at the stacks of boxes that were filled with books, records, plus a collection of decorative accessories that would have done a Haight-Ashbury boutique proud. "How are we ever gonna get all this stuff put away, and not get our asses kicked for doing it wrong? Two more days doesn't seem long enough."

"Relax, guys." Mike strode into the room holding a flat, oblong package wrapped in padding and brown paper. After leaning it very carefully inside the walk-in closet, he turned to survey the wreckage. "We got experts here to take care of that." Lulu and Genie followed, carrying bundles of clothes on hangers that they quickly hung in the closet.

"Right you are, Tall Boy," Genie announced. "But Lulu here will help you with finer points of interior design. I'll tend to the wounded. C'mon, lads, free beer and aspirin downstairs, no waiting."

Davy struggled to his feet. "Is that a good combination?" he asked as he limped after Genie.

"Only if it kills me," Micky declared.

Peter gave him a shove out the door. "Don't know what you're complaining about, I feel fine!"

Davy's voice came sailing up the stairs, "Of course you do, mate, you just handed us the boxes while Mike gave the orders!"

True to her word, Genie had a collection of full beer mugs and a bottle of aspirin waiting on the dining room table. Micky sat down hard and gulped his beer in three swallows, then wiped his mouth with the back of a sweaty hand, belched, and remarked, "Damn, the things he does for love. _That's_ sure a change."

Peter and Davy joined him and followed suit, swilling the cold brew with great relief before trying to talk.

"_Him?_" Davy exclaimed. "You mean _us_ don't you?"

"You could've said no, no gun to your head or anything." Peter told him. It was true; for all of Mike's aggressive persuasion, nobody would have been the worse if they'd been unable to help.

"Yeah, well," Davy muttered and swallowed what was left in his glass. Almost before it hit the table again, Genie replaced it with another. One thing Mike Nesmith's home was _not_ lacking was glassware, especially since Genie unpacked the box of bar mugs that hadn't made it past the first floor.

"Right on about the change bit," Davy agreed. "Hard to get it into me head, to be honest. I may have a name with the girls, but Mike… Like a beggar at a banquet he was, grabbing what was handy and shopping around for more before the sheets cooled off." He saw Genie giving him the Evil Eye. "I know, I know, what's that Chip says, none of us puts the 'monk' in Monkees. But you didn't know him then... when it came to groupies he was a _maniac_."

"I know what he means," Peter said at last. "We're all into the road party, and the chicks. But Mike's always been different… it's like everything he does… he did it with a _vengeance_."

They all were silent for a few minutes as Genie refilled glasses, then sat down at the table with them.

"Look boys, when it comes to psychology…" She downed her own beer and laughed. "We're all of us on the wrong side of the bloody couch more often than not."

"Right!" Micky leapt to his feet (wincing mightily) and raised his glass. "To the wrong side of the couch! At least we're at home there."

"Hear, hear!" Genie toasted, and the rest rose and banged their glasses together.

Unfortunately, Peter's shattered in a spectacular explosion of beer and thrift-shop glass. He stood holding the disembodied handle, beer running down his arm and mixing with the broken mug on the table. The others stared at the mess, and then at Peter.

"So…" he asked gamely, "which box are the towels in?"

* * *

Upstairs, Mike and Lulu made short work of arranging Bonnie's possessions in their new home. Lulu directed as Mike shelved books and records, and considered where to hang photographs and where to place the exotic fabrics and little statues and things that Bonnie had brought with her, and acquired since her arrival in L.A. In addition to all of the boxed and wrapped parts of Bonnie's existence, her bed had been brought in and put on one side of the room, mattress and box spring on the floor and frame discarded, covered with mirrored and embroidered Indian bedspreads and tasseled pillows. Bonnie's round (former) kitchen table with carved oak chairs stood next to the window, bedecked with a round tie-dyed table cloth. Mike's large cushy sofa had been shifted against another wall, its appearance changed only by the addition of yet more colorful pillows and a silk sari draped along its back. All other remnants of the room's original use had either been moved into other rooms or stored in the garage.

The last thing to go up were Bonnie's collection of framed photographs, many of them from art shops in New York, but a few more acquired since her association with Raybert and the Monkees.

Mike tapped a nail into the wall to hang one of Peter's random black and white shots he was so fond of snapping at odd moments on the road. This one showed Mike and Bonnie in silhouette backstage before a St. Louis gig. Back-lit by some stage lights, they were in profile, Mike standing patiently as Bonnie buttoned one of those stupid lace cuffs that it was so hard for him to manage left-handed. She was focused on his wrist, and he was focused on her. He never quite figured out why she liked it so much, but now it seemed to be the right thing to hang where he was hanging it, near the small replica of the Clarksville gold record that Bob had given to her. The low-key reality of one seemed to balance the flash of the other. Over the shelf of records he'd hung the color publicity shot taken to announce her promotion to Associate Producer of the Monkees TV show. It was a standard setup, he and the guys were seated on stools, with Bonnie in the middle where Bob usually stood, the huge red Monkees logo behind them. Everyone was dressed in their "press best", but this was the last shot of the session, and everyone was laughing at some dumbass joke Micky had made. It had been printed with all the studio press info on it, just like the others: "Colgems and Raybert Productions are pleased to announce the arrival of Bonnie Morris in the position of Associate Producer of the Emmy award nominated 'The Monkees'." But Bob deemed the image a little too silly to distribute. Mike, Micky, and the others had persuaded the publicity department (not yet entirely under Bonnie's purview) to let them have it, and they gave it to her with a big red bow attached, as a combination "Congratulations" and "Careful what you wish for" gift. The bow was still attached. And of course there was a ten by twelve color glossy of the Kirshner Champagne Dump in Paris, ostentatiously framed in scrolled sterling silver.

After breaking down the boxes and stacking them in the hall Lulu and Mike stood in the middle of the room to evaluate the results.

"So… looks okay to me." It _did_ look okay to Mike, but Lulu was here for a reason. As foolish as it felt to a man who seldom deferred to the judgment of others... he waited to hear what she had to say.

Lulu was grinning widely. "More than okay. It's Siobhan before, and Siobhan after, and it all adds up to Siobhan now." She faced Mike and grabbed his hand, hammer and all, to shake it firmly. "And you too, I might add." The hammer seemed to remind her of something. "Man, I almost forgot." She went into the closet and fished something out of her bottomless purse, then went back to hand it to Mike.

"Here. One more. I snapped it at an open mike night at Strings. It's been mine since then, but it belongs here now."

Mike examined the photo. It wasn't very large, maybe five-by-eight inches. It was a close up of a young man playing guitar, bent over the instrument in deep concentration. His eyes were closed, partially obscured by a tangle of blond hair. What could be seen of his face reminded Mike of someone he'd come to know very well, and to love _almost_ as much as she loved the young man in this picture. He'd like to think he loved her more, but something told him that was a little too arrogant to assume.

"This is Benny." He said it with a kind of wonder, as if he were actually meeting the person who had played so large a part in Bonnie's life, past and present.

"Yeah. I think it should go over the stereo and records, what do you think?"

Mike handed her the hammer, and dug a nail out of his pocket. "I think it's yours to hang."

Lulu set the nail and hung the photo, then stepped back to look at it. She didn't say anything for a minute or two, and Mike wasn't inclined to intrude on the moment. Finally he asked, "You and Benny had something together, didn't you?"

She shrugged as she turned to him, her bright eyes shadowed for just for a second.

"We were just about getting there. I was gonna join the band in North Carolina after they got set. I never did figure out how to tell Ari I was going. I guess karma sort of took care of that."

Mike shoved both hands in his pockets and shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Lulu's eyes brightened again. "Don't be. What we had up til then was shaping up to be better than most. Kinda like what Siobhan is working on with you. It's a slow ride, but worth the trip. That's why I know this is the right place for that picture." She went back to the closet to get her bag. "Genie's probably got the road warriors all patched up, so we gotta hit the road or Pam and Siobonnie'll be drinking up all the good wine." The well-wrapped package in the closet caught her eye. "So, what's that? I don't remember us wrapping that up." When Mike didn't respond she marched up to face him, toe to toe, eyeball to shirt button, until he looked down at her with a stubborn expression.

"C'mon," she coaxed, "I just cut open an existential vein in front of you, you can trust me to keep a secret. As long as it's a good one."

"Lulu Levine, you are a danger to the world," Mike accused. "Fine, I trust you to keep a secret." He pulled the wrapped piece out of the closet. The way he handled it told Lulu it had to be heavier than it looked. Mike set the thing on the round table, pulled a penknife out of his back pocket and cut the twine, then sliced the paper and padding to expose what lay beneath. Lulu's jaw dropped almost to the floor.

"If you are not the most mind blowing genius alive, I don't know what else to call you." She gaped up at him in undisguised amazement. "I just don't get it. You, and Siobhan, and everyone who knows you repeats the legend of Mike Nesmith, Asshole Deluxe, as if it's been passed down for generations."

"All true." He shrugged. "Maybe there's a miracle cure, or something. Jury's still out. Anyway, it's gonna go up there," he added, to change the subject as much as anything else, pointing to a place high on the outside wall that was marked off with a wide rectangle in red pencil.

Lulu waved a hand around the room, and then pointed at the thing of beauty resting on the table. "_Nobody _gets cured of Asshole this quick. I think inside that asshole there was a righteous stand up dude waiting to bust out." She raised her eyebrows and grabbed Mike's arm. "I'm just glad he waited until my best friend was here to bask in the glory."

"They say timing is everything," Mike agreed, smiling. "Speaking of which, I meant what I said. If you come back before Sunday I'm gonna lock _all _of you in the garage."

"Oooh, big scary Rock Star," Lulu snickered. "Don't worry, now I know why you said it, she will not pass this threshold until then. Gotta time in mind?"

Mike looked out the window to where the sun was halfway down over the canyon, then looked at his watch. "How about six-thirty."

"Perfect." She pranced out into the hall, and then pivoted suddenly. "One more question before I go."

"Yeah?"

"If you gotta brother, send him my way."

"Fat chance," he laughed.

Lulu snorted. "Oh, right. After you were born they broke the mold?"

"Yeah. In _self defense_."


	9. Home and away

**Away**

Unable to decide whether to lounge in the sand or laze in the water, Pam and Bonnie split the difference. (Upper) half lounging in the sand, (lower) half lazing in the water, they took full advantage of a day off by not moving at all... except to stay ahead of the incoming tide.

"So... how's it feel?" Lulled by the warm sand and lapping water, Pam had barely turned her head to speak. She hadn't even opened her eyes.

Bonnie was in pretty much the same state. She didn't even bother to turn her head as she asked, "How's what feel? Sun... groovy. Water... outtasight..."

"I mean with Mike."

Bonnie sat up fast. "You asked it. You actually asked me the stupidest most dumbass teeny bopper question. I mean, I know it's your job and you do it better than most, but I _really_ hoped..."

Pam was insulted, but not so much she was tempted to move. "Brother, you really have had a little too much Nesmith rub off on you, haven't you?" she interrupted. "I _mean_ are you surer of things now? Something must have changed, or you wouldn't be moving in, right?" She lifted both feet and dropped them back in the water with a splash, the most effort she could muster to express her displeasure. "Teeny bopper... you really know how to ruin a day."

"_Sorry_, I forgot who I was talking to." Bonnie flopped onto her back. "I get it. But I'm gonna disappoint you anyway... if you're waiting for me to tell you I wake up in the middle of the night and look around and think 'How could I be here? How could it be happening to _me?', _like that... I don't." She thought for a minute. "Okay, I lied. I do wake up in the middle of the night, but it's just to go pee. And when I come back to bed, and crawl in next to him, and hear him breathing, sometimes I gotta hear that heartbeat too so I scrooch over and hold on. And what it feels like mostly is just... _right. _Just like it's supposed to be, if I ever knew what that was. Yeah I took my time getting here, I guess I was distracted by a mess of stuff in my head, dumbass stuff that was taking up too much room, not letting the right stuff in. Nes was trying so hard, and I was just not getting it."

"So now the dumbass stuff is gone?"

"Well a lot of it is... Lulu helped me dump it."

A familiar voice came rolling down the sand dune behind them.

"I heard my name!"

Lulu and Genie came jogging over the sand ridge, looking like two smug cats who had eaten the world's biggest canary. Lulu had shared the secret of Mike's Special Finishing Touch with Genie, and both of them were fairly busting with the knowledge, but were determined to keep their silence.

"So?" Lulu demanded when they reached Bonnie and Pam. "Why was my name being taken in vain?"

"Bonnie was just telling me how you helped her dump the dumbass stuff out of her brain to make room for knowing how she should move her ass in with Mike, who was trying so hard to get the message across," Pam explained.

"Oh, right, the message," Genie nodded. "Don't look like that, y'silly cow," she berated Bonnie, "the 'message' that the door was open and he was ready and waiting, and waiting and _waiting_ for you to stagger in!"

Bonnie dragged herself to her feet and grumbled, "I'm not a silly cow, dammit, I moved in, didn't I?" She began to trudge up to the house (it was difficult to 'stomp' in sand).

_"You _moved in?" Lulu hollered, following closely, "I didn't see you all day while the rest of us packed and schlepped, packed and schlepped!"

Bonnie pivoted on her, almost falling on her ass. "Well Nesmith is the one who said 'don't come back before Sunday'! So if you want me to admire your work, let's go back now!"

Genie and Lulu exchanged panicked looks. "_No!"_ Genie insisted a little too loudly. "I mean why waste a weekend off?"

"Yeah," Lulu added with a nod to Pam. "I hardly got to know your writer friend here, haven't had a chance to get all the inside dirt on the rock scene, and all that."

"Besides, I don't fancy being locked in the garage with you lot for two days," Genie added, then directed at Bonnie, "y'silly cow."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Fine. But stop calling me a cow." She huffed up the hill ahead of the other three.

"Moo!" Lulu began. "MOOOOOOO!" Genie and Pam joined in, and by the time they reached the back deck Bonnie was being serenaded by a bovine chorus.

Bonnie faced her friends, half doubled over in hysterics. "The men in the white coats are gonna lock you up."

Genie swept by her, hefting a beach rock. "Well _not_ in a bloody garage they're not! Now you have ten seconds to find the corkscrew, or I start opening bottles like me granny taught me."

* * *

**Home**

"Thanks a lot guys, there'll be a little something extra in your pay envelope this week," Mike deadpanned as he walked Davy, Micky, and Peter to the front porch. Micky lit up, but Davy smacked him on the head Bonnie-style as he passed by.

"He's full of shit, ya bloody idiot. Let's get these vans back to the studio, and you can give me a lift home." Before he climbed in he called out, "No problem, mate. Love is the ultimate drug. Took ya a few takes to get this one right, too."

They all cracked up, remembering the recent tag bit that took about a dozen takes because Mike kept breaking up. An exhausted Micky crawled into the other van and hollered out the window, "Save the Texas prairie chicken!"

Peter remained on the porch with Mike, who had asked him to hang for a little and had promised him a ride home. Mike checked his watch, and the sky.

"Cmon, man, I got something I wanna show you."

He led the way upstairs to the (former) library door. While the door remained, the outside frame was hung with the beaded curtain that had been the entrance to Bonnie's bedroom in the North Hollywood apartment. Mike reached through to open the door, and held the beads aside to let Peter enter first.

"Thanks, Mike, but I don't think we need to check it again, it looks..." Then he entered and stood still as a statue. He looked toward the window, then around the room, mouth open but saying nothing. Mike came in and stood behind him, waiting.

"_Well_?" he asked Peter, his voice a mix of insistence and uncertainty. "Does it work? Doesn't look quite the same just leaning there but I wanted to ask before I had it all put in permanent tomorrow."

Still looking around in wonder, Peter shot back, "Does it '_work_'? Man, are you _crazy_? It is mindblowing!"

"Yeah but do you think she'll like it?" Mike circled the room, checking out everything for the tenth time, looking up and down, and back at Peter. "I mean is it too much? I don't wanna scare her, y'know, like maybe I'm a control freak or something, setting her whole life up in here just the way she might not think it should be..."

Now Peter burst out laughing. "Mike, man, you _are _a control freak! But so's Bonnie. Sometimes I don't know how you guys keep from strangling each other when it gets down to how things should be done. What's that they say, don't go to bed mad?"

"Hell we do _that_ all the time... just not mad at each other, I guess. Mad at the shit we fight about, maybe. But you didn't answer my question, Pete."

Peter stared at his friend, thinking _how could such a smart guy be so dense? _"Okay, if you really need my expert opinion... it's just right. Not too much, not too control freak, and since nothing _else_ is gonna be nailed in place I guess she's allowed to change stuff around if she wants... right?"

_"_Well yeah, of course... she can change anything she wants..."

"Relax, Mike. Something tells me she won't wanna change anything, especially _that_."

Mike sat on the sofa, the last remainder of the original room. "Hope she doesn't care I left this monster in here, didn't know where else it could go..."

Peter dropped down next to him and shook his shoulder. "Man, will you _relax? _I've never _seen_ you like this."

"Me neither." He looked around again, a little more detached. "Never been here before, you know that. Me and Morris, it all just jumbled together by accident, and we just rolled with it. And one night I woke up and thought 'man, how did I get here? How did this happen to me?' Suddenly this one part of life that had been as messed up as all the others - _more _messed up - was just right, and it took me by surprise. One quiet, easy piece in the whole big noisy machine. So now I'm workin' real hard not to break it, maybe make it work even better."

"Mike. Man. Just stop for a minute, okay? If all of this happened by accident, and _life_ happens by accident so why should love be any different, then you can't design it better than it already is. She's here, she's _been_ here all along. It's an existential statement: you and Bonnie. All this is just..." he waved his hand around, and found a word. "It's the exclamation point. And no matter where the stuff is or how she rearranges it or doesn't, doesn't matter. It's the existential exclamation point. And that, my man..." he pointed toward the window where the Finishing Touch was leaning. "The embodiment of 'the ultimate drug'."

The very everyday-ness of the whole thing suddenly struck Mike. "You're right, Pete. She's here, _we're_ here, her and me." Then a smile overcame him. "But man, she is such a _contrary _wench! If she freaks out - not sayin' she will - but if she takes a _temporary_ screaming left turn like she does sometimes... I may have to call on you for a little leverage. 'Cause no matter how pissed off she can get at _me_, _you_ seem to walk on water."

"I just know where the rocks are," Peter confessed with a laugh, "but don't tell her, or we're _both_ screwed."


	10. Downstairs and Up

Downstairs

The Four Horsechicks of the Apocalypse (as they had earlier been dubbed by Micky) had decided that Genie and Pam would offer Lulu some moral support as she joined the rest of the guys for a pre-audition run-through jam at the Colgems studio. It being Sunday they'd have it all to themselves. And, to be honest, they all wanted to leave the "unveiling" for Bonnie to enjoy without a crowd, though they were all dying to see the finished product. Only Peter had seen it _nearly_ finished, and all he'd give up was "Mike's discovered a gift for redefining groovy." Lulu, who didn't mind at all giving up the "guest room" to such a worthy cause, would crash at Genie's place with Pam for the night.

"Okay, we'll catch up tomorrow before the fairy tale taping," Pam was saying as she pulled up in front of Mike's place. Correction... Mike's and _Bonnie's_ place. She'd barely put her rental car in "park" before Bonnie had the door open, dragging her duffel bag after her.

"Yeah, later," she called over her shoulder as she bounded up the front steps and burst through the unlocked door.

"Nesmith!" she hollered, dropping her stuff with a thud. "_NES-MITH!"_

He came loping downstairs in his stocking feet, looking at Bonnie and then at his watch. "Right on time."

Mike's casual smile belied the nerves jangling within. Even Peter's heartfelt reassurances couldn't quite put out the glimmer of doubt lurking in the back of his mind. It's not as if he had a lot of practice convincing a woman - _any_ woman, let alone a grown, sensible one who had seen every rattling skeleton in his closet - that he was worth the risk of cohabitation. This was a shot in the dark, albeit painstakingly choreographed.

He barely reached the front hall when Bonnie blasted past him and galloped up the steps two at a time. It was killing him to stay put, but he'd sworn to himself he'd let her have her look around first, give her a few minutes to check it out without having to think of what to say or how to react. If he'd blown it, he'd know soon enough. If he'd scored, being there sooner wouldn't change that either.

The galloping stopped short, and he heard the click and tinkle of the beaded curtain he'd hung in the doorway (the door was still there, but he'd left it open and out of the way). He'd planned to count to one hundred, then go upstairs.

The sound of feet started up again, this time circling, pausing, circling, pausing, faster and faster until he thought she must be whirling like a dervish. Then the pogo-stick sound of her jumping up and down, then the thump of someone falling to the floor, on purpose. The silence afterward was abrupt, but it didn't worry him. He knew her well enough to know he hadn't blown it.

* * *

Upstairs I

Bonnie screeched to a halt and stared at the light glinting through the beads. _Wow._ Impressive. They'd hung her bedroom "door", every crystal bead and bell in place. _Very _impressive. But when she entered the room, her mind was irrevocably blown.

The colors, that was the first thing... a dancing rainbow of transparencies scattered around the room, some almost solid in their intensity, others fluttering like winged fairies. _Where is it coming from..._ and that's when she looked up.

High on the wall, above the window overlooking the canyon, was a perfect replica of the New York Transit System's mosaic "Grand Central" subway sign. It differed, however, in two important respects: The word "Grand" was replaced by "Morris". And instead of the cracked antique cream, black, and brown ceramic tiles, this sign was fashioned of brightly colored squares of glass. Blue, red, green yellow, opalescent, and every combination thereof... all of them painstakingly joined by lead and enamel and mounted in a heavy oak frame that had been installed by Peter's glassmaker friend in the hole cut by a Monkees set crew member who moonlighted as a building contractor. And in the center of the ceiling, suspended by fishing line from a brass hook, was a delicate mobile of prisms cut in various sizes and shapes to catch and cast the window's colors throughout the room.

At this time of day the window caught the sun to its best advantage, and the gently drifting patches of color drew Bonnie to the walls and bookcases and carefully arranged furniture, mirrored fabrics throwing even more light and color into the air like bright confetti. She was completely unaware of how she was running around the edges of the room, staring at the photographs, stunned by the way they wove her past and present together as if it had always meant to fall together that way, removing all divisions and doubts. Old-life, new-life, how had she ever been so ridiculously rigid about it? It was all of a piece, as fluid and easy as the colored light that became more and more watery as the sun moved further west. Finally she stopped in front of the small photo of Benny. There was a time she would have burst into tears, when all it would have reminded her of was his absence. _No._ Lulu was right. He was here with her and with all the rest of it. Overcome by the whole thing, she backed to the center of the room and sat down with a thump, then lay down on her back as if she were going to make a snow angel.

_No... light angels. Color angels. I must have been crazy to have waited this long._

* * *

Upstairs II

Mike slipped quietly between the beads and stood there for a moment, watching. Her eyes were wide open but he wasn't at all sure she saw him until she arched her neck a little, looking up at him from upside-down perspective.

"Whatcha lyin' there for?"

"I can _see_ everything from here," she explained, as if he were dense, and patted the floor next to her. "C'mere and see."

He stretched out next to her on his back, wishing for just a minute he'd thought of putting stars on the ceiling. _Nah. Way too acid-trippy._

"So." It was all he could think of to say that wouldn't sound pushy. He cut a sideways look at her. Was she crying? He didn't know whether that would be a good sign or a bad one, so when she turned her head toward him and he saw her eyes were wide as hubcaps, but dry, it was kind of a relief.

"Is _that_ all you can say? 'So'?"

Mike turned on his side and raised up on an elbow. "Well I was kinda wondering what _you_ had to say about it. How's it look to you?"

She exhaled a soft laugh, shook her head a little in disbelief. "It looks like... me. It's me, Nesmith. It's me, and you, and my life, and _everything_ about me that makes me _me_." Facing upright and looking toward the window again, where the light was even more watery now, she added, "It's perfect."

It was Mike's turn to laugh. "Ha, then it _can't_ be you, and it sure as hell can't be _me_."

She rolled to face him. "How? How did you know to do this?"

He shrugged. "Well your friends helped me figure it out..."

"Uh-uh, wrong. You started it, how did you know, that all of this together would be exactly who I am?" When he reached his hand to her face, she pressed her cheek against it.

"_I_ dunno, baby. I just guessed, like when I went to New York to look for that tape. You know we always had that sorta hook into each other, I just ran with that and hoped I was right. I figured if I put enough of you here that wasn't here already, you'd _have_ to come with it and stay."

She inched closer and ran a finger along one long sideburn, then trailed it up to smooth the "swoop", smiling as it sprang back into shape. "Sneaky bastard aren't ya."

"Well, y'know the secret of bagging a wild Mamadillo, is you _gotta_ sneak up on her. Dangerous creature, in fact I think I almost lost a finger or two along the way." He sat up and counted all ten of his fingers. "Nope, still all here."

"Good." Bonnie sprang to her feet and took another look at the colors before the sunlight lost its perfect angle through the window, then looked down at Mike and promised, "And from now on, _no_ more Mamadillo."

He got up and caught her in his arms, surprising her. "Now don't say that. I'd miss her something fierce." He pointed at the Morris Central window. "Y'see, everybody knows Morris pretty much. She's at work, she's at gigs, she's all _over_ the place. But Mamadillo," he murmured, and when he raised her face she was lost in those deep eyes, "she's all mine. Besides, I kinda like that way you unwind and come rollin' over me in the middle of the night when I touch you the _least little_ bit."

"Anyone ever tell you, you're kind of a freak?" she asked, smiling.

"Frequently." He turned a little, keeping one arm slung around her shoulders, and waved his hand around the room. "Okay then, as long as it's got the Mamadillo seal of approval... time to pay up."

"Huh?" Bonnie stepped back, eyes narrowing. "What did you have in mind that you don't get _already?"_

He held his arms out. "You gotta dance for it."

"No way. You know I hate to dance."

Now he was smiling, sliding closer, reaching for her. "I seem to remember a night in Paris..."

"That was different," she protested. "I wasn't myself. I'd been punched in the head by a French hooker and run ragged by Slave-driver Bob."

Now that he was sure he'd scored, and not blown it, Mike was not to be dissuaded.

"Look, you made _me_ dance long enough just to _get_ you here. Now it's your turn. Unless you'd just rather go back to bein' a cruel, evil minded, contrary-ass wench." He stood there, hands on his hips, glaring the best Dark Glare he could manage without shades.

She stood glaring back at him. "So I guess this is what you Texans call a Mexican standoff?"

"_Si._"

He was being so obstinate Bonnie actually began to feel a little guilty. "Oh, all _right_." She looked around for a minute, and saw rescue at hand. "So where's the sound system?"

"Gettin' it wired next week. But I got it covered. You forget I am a professional crooner. If you're lucky, I'll seduce you with my style." He tipped a gigolo's wink and reached for her.

Giving up (and really _wanting_ to snuggle up with this long lean mental case) Bonnie stepped into Mike's arms. "Hit it," she told him, and smiled to herself as he quietly counted-in. He was leading her smoothly in a small circle when she recognized the song, his breathy voice in her ear and torchy phrasing making it sound like one of his own. But it wasn't, most definitely not.

_Here... making each day of the year,  
__Changing my life with a wave of her hand  
__Nobody can deny that that there's something there__  
_

"The Beatles?" she exclaimed. "The most self-promoting Texas songwriter on either coast is gonna seduce me with the _Beatles_?"

He smiled and looked around the room, considering all that had gone into it and why, before answering in absolute honesty.

"Whatever works, baby, whatever works."


End file.
